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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

What had
seemed boyish and almost hard in her died away utterly under the embrace
of this fierce manhood.
"Domini," he spoke, whispering while he kissed her, "Domini, the fire's
gone out. It's dark."
He lifted her a little in his arms, still kissing her.
"Domini, it's dark, it's dark."
He lifted her more. She stood up, with his arms about her, looking
towards where the fire had been. She put her hands against his face and
softly pressed it back from hers, but with a touch that was a caress. He
yielded to her at once.
"Look!" he said. "Do you love the darkness? Tell me--tell me that you
love it."
She let her hand glide over his cheek in answer.
"Look at it. Love it. All the desert is in it, and our love in the
desert. Let us stay in the desert, let us stay in it for ever--for ever.
It is your garden--yours. It has brought us everything, Domini."
He took her hand and pressed it again and again over his cheek
lingeringly. Then, abruptly, he dropped it.
"Come!" he said. "Domini."
And he drew her in through the tent door almost violently.
A stronger gust of the night wind followed them.


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